Choose Your Own Adventure, I wonder if any one remember those books? I am wishful if time would melt like Dali’s clocks, I could be sharing a chai latte with you in a random library, snowed in by minus ten degrees C. Watching your ball pen scratch an abstract world on a note pad, drenched in rows of poetry written whence. Brows scrunched up, lashes lids flickering a fully awake dream. You would smile at me, I’m sure. That quiet shy smile, with mischievousness edged in at the corner of your mouth. I would hold you till sleep falls on my shoulder, till your spirit soar like the eagle in an old Elvis Presley song. Surely then, my adventure would have a happy end. P

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

There's magic in translating a body of work from one language to another.

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